


Rim Job

by SamGirlDeanCurious



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamGirlDeanCurious/pseuds/SamGirlDeanCurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from Season 7 ep 6, Slash Fiction.  Remember the part where Dean says he's going to steal the rims from the Leviathans' Impala?  Yeah, this is that missing scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rim Job

**Author's Note:**

> Like the title? See what I did there? :)
> 
> As usual, any comments are very appreciated, especially ones that point out any typos. Additionally, comments might help make my muse come back. She's been on vacation long enough!

Sam and Dean ran through the rows of cars in the police impound lot of Ankeny, Iowa, scanning row after row of piece-of-shit cars. They finally spot their crappy Acadian all the way at the back, bumper right up against and practically through the chain link fence. Without a word, Sam threw Dean the keys he dug out of their “personal effects” bags and veered off in the direction of the locked gate.  
  
Dean fought his way between the fence and the bumper so he could get to the trunk. The chain links bowed out, curving around his body so he could stand behind the car and fit the key in the trunk.  
  
“Who parks cars in this lot anyway, a blind man? Just backs up until he hears the fence go down?” Dean muttered to himself, fighting with the key in the rusted lock for only a minute before the trunk abruptly popped open, nearly clipping him in the jaw as it flew up. Dean cursed, throwing his head back and snagging his hair in the fence, but he managed to avoid chipping his teeth. He tossed what’s left of the cleaner fluid next to the three duffel bags (one of clothes and two of weapons) they could fit in the car. The trunk closed with a resounding THUNK and Dean winced. It wasn’t the right sound - not enough depth and definitely the wrong timbre. Dean ached for his Baby; without her he felt naked and a little lost, what he imagined homelessness would feel like. He kicked the side of the Acadian in frustration, groaning when one of the sideboards drops off. Dean has had it - between this day, this night, Sam’s mulishness (God knew what that was about), and this fucking car, he was ready to break. Dean took a breath to scream everything out to the sky, but the creak of the gate Sam had picked open stopped him. Time to get moving. He could scream all he wanted later at Rufus’ cabin once they were away from this nightmare.  
  
As Dean eased his rustbucket to the gate, he stopped long enough for Sam to wrestle, fold, and otherwise jam his long limbs into the car, and they pulled out of the lot. It was a short drive around the block, back around the police station before they could get out of town. As they turned the corner, the lights from the station spilled out into the dark parking lot, illuminating the two cars parked at opposite sides. The whole back row of street lamps were dark, probably burnt out and never replaced. Both men keep their eyes on the windows and door, waiting for the alarm to sound and police to pour out of the building after them. Nothing happened. Rationally, they knew the sheriff and his daughter were the only people still alive in the building, and there was no way reinforcement Leviathans could have made it to town yet, but they were both tense with anxiety after years of nothing ever going their way. As they eased by the entrance to the lot, Sam’s shoulders started to drop in relief, but while they were passing the lot turn-in, a familiar gleam caught Dean’s eye and he stomped on the gas, hooking a sharp left that sends them careening to the back end of the parking lot. There was a third car in the lot they hadn’t noticed, dark and sleek and shiny.  
  
“Dean! What the fuck!?” Sam yelled. He’d had to hold onto the dash to keep his head from slamming into the passenger window when Dean whipped the car around. He looked around after brushing the hair out of his eyes, and saw what had caught Dean’s eye. They were sitting right next to the fake Impala, the Impala-poster their Leviathan twins had been driving.  
  
Sam turned to look at Dean, incredulous, and started to ask what they hell they were doing, but he noticed a familiar expression on Dean’s face, one he hadn’t seen in years, and he knew - Sam knew why they were still in this lot, still in freaking Ankeny and he was not happy about it.  
  
“No, Dean. Abso-fucking-lutely not. No fucking way. We don’t have time!”  
  
Dean looked at the car next to him and smiled. It’s a slow smile, one he only used for his Baby. Sam was a little surprised he’d grace this Fake Baby with it.  
“I told ya earlier, Sammy. I want those rims,” he said and shoved his car door open with an air of malevolent glee. Sam couldn’t hardly stand it. He wanted to wipe the smug smirk off Dean’s face with his fist. Instead, he climbed out of the car and followed Dean to the trunk, bitching him out while he pulled the necessary tools from the trunk.  
  
“Dean, seriously. We do not have time for this. The Leviathans are gonna figure out something’s wrong pretty damn quick, and I bet there’s a big daddy big mouth not that far from here. We gotta get outta here, now!”  
  
“Not gonna take that long, Sam. Alls I need is . . .” Dean cocked his head to the side, pondering while he held a car jack and tire iron in his hands. “. . . Twenty minutes.” He grinned at Sam. “Grab that big screwdriver.”  
  
Sam grabbed the screwdriver and resisted stabbing his brother with it.  
  
“Not gonna take that long? Twenty minutes? . . . When’s the last time you boosted a full set of rims, Dean? Fifteen years ago? Twenty? Sure, you were fast in high school -”  
  
“Could do a full set in twenty minutes singlehandedly,” Dean boasted. “Fifteen if I had my wingman.” He grinned again at Sam while he moved around to the driver’s side front wheel of the Imposterpala and bent to start loosening the lugnuts.  
  
Sam didn’t return the smile or let up on his tirade. He was hurt and pissed and fucking tired, and he certainly didn’t want to run into any more Leviathans.  
  
“That was high school, Dean. And those were usually piece of shit cars we’d jack. These tires are probably some serious shit. Plus, you really think the Impala’s heavy enough to break the bead? I don’t see that old tow truck around, do you?”  
  
Dean didn’t answer, ignoring Sam in favor of loosening the tire. Sam huffed in frustration, turning his back on Dean and running his hands through his hair. Turning back around, he watched Dean loosen the bolts. He took a breath. Sam knew his brother well enough to know when he could change his mind, and this clearly was not one of those times. So, he’d be better served going along with Dean and helping him get this over as quickly as they could. Besides, it was probably like riding a bike, right?  
  
Sam paused to do some mental calculations. Dean was roughly four minutes a tire back then, with Sam loosening all the lugnuts first, but they’d had the primo jack from the autoshop, and they’d used the shop’s tow truck to pop the beads on the tires, something a heavier vehicle makes much easier. Sam could still loosen the nuts, but the Acadian’s jack had more rust on it than the Tin Man and looked like it’d break in half lifting the Acadian once, let alone the 3,500 pound Imposterpala at least twelve times. Taking that into account, it’d take Dean . . . Sam’s eyes flew open, his resolve to help his brother crumbling.  
  
“Fuck no, Dean. With this shitty equipment, we’re talking at least half an hour! That’s plenty of time for more Leviathan to show up from Des Moines, or Ames, or wherever they’ve established themselves around here. We need to get the fuck outta here,” Sam changed his tone when Dean didn’t respond, threading a little patented Sam-Winchester-puppy-dog-whine into his voice, knowing full well he was trying to manipulate his brother. “Please. Please, Dean, let’s go.”  
  
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean groaned, wrenching the last particularly tough lugnut free. The tire iron clattered to the ground as Dean stood up and approached Sam, crowding into his space. “These assholes stole our faces and made us felons. They murdered people, Sam. People. With our faces on,” Dean paused, emphasizing ‘people’ and pointing at his own face. He walked back to the Impala-poster and picked up the tire iron, still talking. His grip on the metal was hard, and Sam could see his knuckles pulsing red then white as he gripped the metal. Dean dropped his voice lower too, throwing more danger and threats underneath the words than he usually did when talking to Sam. “Now, I want their fucking rims. Consider it reparations, and I am not leaving here without them. So, are you gonna unbunch your panties and be my wingman on this or not?” he asked, throwing the tire iron at Sam. Sam ducked and it clattered to the pavement.  
  
They stared at one another, Sam practically boiling out of his skin with rage. With a big sigh he finally snatched the iron from the pavement and went to loosen the rest of the tires, mostly to keep himself from assaulting his big brother.  
  


***

The first two tires came off no problem - pull the wheel off the car, let the car down, position the jack under the bumper and brace it on the wall of the tire, jack the car up until the bead snaps with a dull rubber pop. Flip the tire and repeat. Use the tire iron and screwdriver to pry the tire up over the rim, then toss the rim in the backseat of the Acadian, leave the tire wherever the fuck you want. Jack the car back up, pull off the next wheel and go again. Dean made under four minutes with both tires. The third wheel, however, that was where they ran into trouble. It wouldn’t come off.

Dean pulled and yanked and hammered at the wheel without mercy from the front, but it would not budge.

“Well, fuck, Sammy. Looks like we gotta do this the old-fashioned way,” Dean said and then rolled under the car. Sam heard him start tsking at the undercarriage. “Boys, boys, boys. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you how to prevent this much corrosion from building up? What a waste,” Dean said, mostly to himself.

Sam bent over to look under the car and watched Dean position himself on his back, pull his leg back, and ram his foot into the back of the tire like a piston. Dean kicked the wheel hard enough to make the car rattle. Sam watched the rusty jack rattle back and forth, and tried to decide if it was going to break or give out. Not that he knew what he would do if that happened - the Imposterpala would crush Dean before Sam could take five breaths. He supposed the least he could do was witness his pigheaded brother’s demise at the hands of the car he so doted on. Sam smiled at his morbid thoughts.

One kick, two kicks. The car shudders each time, the jack creaks, and Sam keeps adding minutes to his mental tally.

Just when Sam was about to pull Dean bodily from under the car and drag him away, there was a cracking sound and the wheel came flying off the axle. Dean popped out looking triumphant and started to let the car down so he could break the rim with the trunk. Sam turned his head toward the police station, worried about how long they’ve been out here, letting the flashlight he’d been holding for Dean wander.

“Sam!” Dean barked, “The light!” Sam startled out of his thoughts and swung the white orb of light back on the wheel so Dean could position the jack correctly. While Dean ratchetted the jack up, Sam continued to crane his neck to watch the station doors, looking for any evidence of activity. He knew that they would have seen anyone coming or going, but he couldn’t shake the anxiety that was creeping over him. The parking lot was dark, but Sam didn’t think it was actually dark enough to cover their actions, and there weren’t nearly enough cars in the lot to obscure them.

“Dean, I know you want these, but I really think we need to hurry. I’m gettin’ a bad feeling here.”

“Whoa, Sammy, don’t go puttin’ that out in the universe. We’ll be fine,” Dean said, wrestling the tire off the third rim and throwing it behind him. The rim he gently placed in the rear footwell of their car. “You’re just jittery from your run in with . . . Not-Me. Shake it off. I only need a few more minutes.”

Sam glared at Dean’s back. Not only can he practically feel the Leviathans closing in around them, Sam’s “nerves” aren’t because of their fight in the cells. Sam was surlier than usual because his brother had killed his friend, lied to him (again) and then he’d had to find about it from a monster wearing Dean’s face. Sam clenched his jaw and fists as he felt the anger that had been abating roll back over him, burning hot and low in his stomach. Dean had killed Amy, lied to him about it, and now here they were - still in this goddamn parking lot of the goddamn police station where they’d killed things that looked like themselves, stealing rims off their doppelgangers’ car.

Dean of course had no idea Sam knew about his run-in with Amy yet. He was merrily jacking up the car and pulling the last tire off, muttering to himself about it being “just like riding a bike,” and that “who doesn’t love a good rim job after a stressful night, am I right, Sammy?” joke that Sam has heard at least a hundred times. Dean even looked at Sam and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, like he was so fucking clever. Sam broke. Dean’s eyes looked like they were just out for a joyride stealing rims, like he hadn’t just watch his brother cut the head off a creature that looked like him or witnessed the murder of a mother just trying to protect her son; as though he’d never died and gone to hell and come back just a little wrong; or like he’d never watched his brother die, bleeding from his back. Sam would give anything for Dean’s eyes to look like that all the time, but not here, not now, not when Sam feels the way he does, cornered and hot with anger, bursting at the seams for a fight but terrified to death that they won’t both make it out of here.

Sam crouched low and grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and jacket, fisting the material between his fingers while he hissed in Dean’s face.

“Hurry the fuck up, Dean. I don’t wanna die in this fucking parking lot over some stupid rims for your car.” Sam shook Dean hard and threw him back to the pavement next to the car.

“Jesus, Sam! Chill!” Dean reached up and straightened his shirt, shrugging his jacket back on before rolling the tire to the back of the car, cursing Sam. “What the hell is wrong with you? Fuck!” He walked wide around Sam on his way to the last tire, glaring at him.

Sam breathed as he leaned against the car and listened to the jack ratchet, then the rubber snap, and the rattling mechanical noises of prying the tire off the last rim. A light brushes against his closed eyelids.

“Dean!”

They both dove behind the passenger side of the car, hostility momentarily forgotten, and peeked through the windows, trusting the light reflections to hide their heads. They watched a short, blond man in a suit park right in front of the steps, get out, and take the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs, he turned in a tight circle, sweeping the parking lot with his eyes. Sam ducked his head, but Dean kept watching, confident that the glare on the windows would hide him. He watched Blondie finish his rotation and walk into the building, giving the door a brisk jerk.

Dean looked down the car at Sam, catching Sam’s full-on bitch-face like smack. Shaking it off, Dean grinned down at Sam, childishly rolling the bare rim to him to put in their car. Sam swore Dean must be part Imp.

“Whaddaya think, Sammy? We got five more minutes?” Dean asked, moving to the front of the car and jimmying the hood open. Sam thought he might really murder his brother. Or leave him there.

“Dean! That guy was clearly FBI,” Sam gestured erratically toward the building while he dropped the rim onto the pile in their backseat and shut the door. “That’s the only thing worse than a pile of Leviathan showing up.” Suddenly Sam really was afraid; afraid of the only thing more awful than getting eaten by a Leviathan in this parking lot; going to jail and never seeing his asshole brother again would be worse. Way, way worse.

“Dean, seriously. I’m not fucking around. Let’s go.”

“Sam! We’ve got at least five minutes while he talks to the sheriff and figures out what’s what. Plus, the sheriff’s gonna tell him we’re dead! I can’t let this perfectly good opportunity for some free spare parts pass me by. Here, take the keys. Five minutes and you can leave without me.”

Sam took the keys and considered; if Dean was the only one locked up, Sam could visit him, or bust him out.

Dean stripped the engine of anything that was both particularly useful or hard to find in their current off-the-grid status, but was also easy to remove, and he had it all piled in the back seat of the Acadian on top of the rims in six minutes. Sam already had the car running, but Dean kicked him out of the driver seat. Once he was settled, Dean glanced back at the pile of car parts behind him. The stains would likely never come out of the upholstery, as if he gave a shit about the upholstery in this car. With a glance at Sam and a grin out of the corner of his mouth, they finally pulled out of the station parking lot. Sam and Dean were on the freeway out of Ankeny, Iowa long before the screaming in the police morgue starts.


End file.
